Even with the reduced numbers of the defenders, this fiendish thing would make their remaining water supply inadequate. And then another thought struck him. Suppose it stayed there, so that even if by some miracle the garrison held out, it made holding the fort impossible no matter how many men, or how much water there was. The men were looking at him. Tex let the dead snake drop to the catwalk and vanish under a pall of scarlet beetles. "Clean up this mess," said Tex automatically. Breska's black eyes were brilliant and very hard. Why didn't the men move? "Go on," Tex snapped. "I'm ranking officer here now." The men turned to their task with a queer reluctance. One of them, a big scar-faced hulk with a mop of hair far redder far than Tex's, stood long after the others had gone, watching him out of narrowed green eyes. Tex went slowly down into the compound. There were no breaks in the net, but another few days of rust would finish them. What was the use of fighting on? If they left now, they might get out alive. Headquarters could send more men, retake Fort Washington. But Headquarters didn't have many men. And the woman with the eyes like pale-green flames wouldn't waste any time. Some falling body had crushed a beetle-bomb caught in the net. The scarlet things were falling like drops of blood on Kuna's body. Tex smiled crookedly. In a few seconds there'd be nothing left of the flesh Kuna had cherished so dearly. And then Tex rubbed freckled hands over his tired blue eyes, wondering if he were at last delirious. The beetles weren't eating Kuna. They swirled around him restlessly, scenting meat, but they didn't touch him. His face showed parchment dry under the whorls of fog. And suddenly Tex understood. "It's because he's dry. They won't touch anything dry." Recklessly, he put his own hand down in the scarlet stream. It divided and flowed around it, disdaining the parched flesh. Tex laughed, a brassy laugh with an edge of hysteria in it. Now that they were going to die anyway, they didn't have to worry about beetle-bombs. Feet, a lot of them, clumped up to where he knelt. The red-haired giant with the green eyes stood over him, the men in a sullen, hard-faced knot behind him. The red-haired man, whose name was Bull, had a gun in his hand. He said gruffly, "We're leavin', Tex." Tex got up. "Yeah?" "Yeah. We figure it's no use stayin'. Comin' with us?" Why not? It was his only chance for life. He had no stake in the colonies. He'd joined the Legion for adventure. Then he looked at Kuna, and at Breska, thinking of all the people of two worlds who needed ground to grow food on, and water to grow it with. Something, perhaps the ancestor who had died in the Alamo, made him shake his sandy head. "I reckon not," he said. "And I reckon you ain't, either."